


Tuesday Night

by idk_books



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Caught, F/F, Fluff, Secret Relationship, Secrets, Studying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:07:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22866067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idk_books/pseuds/idk_books
Summary: Patsy and Delia are looking forward to a rare evening alone amongst the bustle of Nonnatus House. Under the pretence of studying together, they plan to make the most of their evening but an unsuspecting Barbara joins them and somewhat scuppers their plans.
Relationships: Barbara Gilbert & Patsy Mount, Delia Busby/Patsy Mount
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	Tuesday Night

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago but was reminded of it as I rewatch CTM. I realise it's implausible that Patsy and Delia would be sneaking around this much as Delia has her own room but it was fun to consider it. It's largely just trivial fluff!
> 
> 24/02/2020 I've tweaked it slightly as I realised I never made it clear who the 'I' in the story is!

“Patsy? Patsy!” I sit up, suddenly brought to attention by Trixie’s dulcet tones. “Are you alright?” she peers expectantly at me, her eyes - as ever - beautifully outlined. I nod and smile and try to feign interest as she declaims - yet again - on the virtues of her exercise class and the progress of the middle-aged women of Poplar. Meanwhile, the person I really want to be with is in another room. She’s always in another room. Trixie’s good company - her anecdotes are fail-safe - but she’s not Delia. I was hoping that, when she moved in, we’d be able to spend more time together. I even dared hope that they’d shuffle things around so that we’d be able to share a room but she’s a lodger, not a midwife, so she’s got her own room and I’m left with Trixie. 

So many people have said it’s unnatural or that we shouldn’t exist and I do sometimes wonder if they’re right. Maybe that’s why everything has to be so cloak and dagger. But our love is as fierce as that between a husband and wife so where can it go? Husbands and wives can pass it on to children whereas with us it just feels like it’s left to eat us up alive. It doesn’t feel unnatural though. Not really. I know it should be but just one shared glance is enough to make the world feel bearable and my job seem do-able. 

Trixie’s out tomorrow evening. She is every Tuesday evening. I don’t know where she goes. I think it’s some society, possibly Art History. I doubt it’s knitting. Whatever it is, it means Deels and I get some time together, alone. She just needs to mention her need for a quiet evening of studying so I can nobly volunteer to assist. Sometimes we even manage to get some actual revision done!

We never know whether to lock the doors. The consideration behind this should be obvious. I often think that we shouldn’t make a show about studying and Deels should just sneak in; we could lock the door and I could just be catching up with sleep. That would never work in reality though. Someone’s always rushing about looking for someone, or something, at Nonnatus and it would become rapidly apparent that Delia was nowhere to be found and I’d mysteriously locked myself in. 

Tomorrow evening can’t come quickly enough. Last week, I was on call and we were rudely interrupted by Mrs Harris’ labour twenty minutes into studying. Tomorrow I’m free from the rota and so is Delia. But tonight I’m distracted, flustered even. I can see that Trixie’s noticed but she hasn’t said so. I often wonder how much she’s realised; she’s no fool. Barbara’s here too. Trixie’s moved on from discussing her exercise class to helping her with her mascara. I’m just hiding my excitement and anticipation behind my ancient copy of Great Expectations. I’m hoping Delia doesn’t choose to make an appearance now. Trixie and Barbara aren’t going anywhere so we’d be forced to sit awkwardly at opposite ends of the bed, afraid to make eye contact instead of wrapped in each other’s arms like we’d want.

At breakfast we sit beside each other. Her hand brushes my leg as she sits down. I can’t look at her. I nearly melt under Sister Julienne’s quiet scrutiny. Her enquiring as to the reason behind my near silence causes near hysteria.

A day of hemorrhoids and insulin injections provides a very welcome distraction. It’s hard to think of romance when staring at the inflamed rectum of a disgruntled dock worker. I hardly have time to think of Delia and our forthcoming evening. We so rarely get the opportunity to move beyond formalities back at Nonnatus. I’m always too afraid to do anything more than pass the time of day with her; having any in depth discussions outside of the confines of Tuesday evenings would give too much away. That’s the hardest thing: being in such constant close proximity but having it rarely mean anything. 

During tea, I savour every chaste glance between us. Soon Delia announces her intention to study tonight so I can offer to help. Trixie reminds us - unnecessarily - that we have peace and quiet since she’s out. I’m scared to let on to her just how much our Tuesdays mean. I’m afraid to let her know just how much I care. I’ve already lost her once and I think losing her a second time would be just too much. And so I grumble about having to revise and complain about studying - yet again - the inner-most workings of the female reproductive system. My heart is racing but she doesn’t know. She won’t be able to feel that through my hand that she squeezes as we make our way upstairs. 

At the top, she wanders off to her own room to fetch her books whilst I’m left to straighten up my eiderdown and pour some babysham. When she returns, she’s accompanied by Barbara who’s naively carrying a pile of books as well. As Barbara settles herself at the end of my bed, Delia looks guilty and for once, I’m unable to hide my feelings from my face.

“I thought I might join you. It’s a while since I went through anatomy and it’s always less tedious to revise with friends.” She spreads her books across the bed and I’m forced to draw my legs up to my chin to avoid the tidal wave of academia. Delia’s sat on Trixie’s bed, refusing to meet my eye, with her books spread before her. This is how we stay for half an hour. Me with Great Expectations and the two of them with textbooks and muttered exchanges about the pelvic region.

Thankfully, Barbara suggests cocoa and helpfully offers to fetch it. The babysham has been hastily hidden under the bed so we agree enthusiastically. The door gently clicks shut and I look across at Delia who is also looking across at me. I hold her gaze, not knowing what to do with our moment of freedom. Without my realising it, Delia has moved next to me. She leans in and her lips brush mine. I panic, “We can’t. There isn’t time,” I breathe.

“It takes at least five minutes for the milk to boil,” she murmurs, “ Let’s make the most of it.” and she leans back in. I move forward to meet her and then lean back, drawing her on top of me. There’s a thud as I kick one of Barbara’s books but I barely notice and certainly do nothing to acknowledge it and neither does Delia. Her hands move gently down the side of my body and I pull her in closer, my hand on the back of her thigh and moving upwards. This is what I’d been waiting for. This is what I nearly lost.

The opening of the door causes as much of a disturbance as the thud of the book. It’s not until the clink of the mugs on the tray as Barbara sets it on the bedside table that we notice her reappearance, the door still open behind her and a look of shock and embarrassment on her face. She’s clearly as speechless as us. It feels farcical; the daughter of a vicar stumbling upon two ‘inverts’ inter-twined with each other. I realise my hand is still up Delia’s skirt and I sheepishly withdraw it as Delia rolls off me, straightening her clothes. She sits on the bed next to me. I’m conscious of the gap that’s suddenly between us.

“Sorry, I’ll come back. I… interrupt… sorry,” Barbara stammered and began to withdraw. Delia leaped after her, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her back into the room, closing the door shut behind her. We then sat looking at each other. Me and Delia on one bed and Barbara on the other.

“I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t.”

Barbara and I spoke simultaneously and then both stopped abruptly. The silence resumed itself and I didn’t know what to say or do. I really wanted to clutch Delia’s hand but I suspected that wouldn’t help our situation. Barbara opened her mouth to speak and this time I let her. 

“I think… I know I walked in on something I shouldn’t have,” the red flush in her cheek deepens, “and I’m so unbelievably sorry. I knew the two of you were close but I had no idea. I’m sorry I tried to muscle in on your,” she pauses, “studying. I’m not sure I really understand but I know my blabbing won’t help anything. Please. I hope you know you can trust me.”

It’s at this point I allow myself to breathe out. Delia takes my hand and somewhat eases the thudding in my chest. 

“Right,” Barbara stands up, “I’ll leave you two. Alone.” And without looking at either of us, she practically sprints out of the room.

I turn back to Deels,“What now?”

“I think we’re going to have to kill her,” and with that we fall about laughing and into each other’s arms.


End file.
